Out For Blood
by Laylz
Summary: Bella, 19, is a highly trained assassin, working for her family's mafia. Edward, 26, and his two brothers are working to control the underworld. The two families have always been friendly. But Bella doesn't share the same mindset as her family and doesn't believe trust helps anything. How will a girl so cold survive a love so peculiar? Very OCC. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Consequences Follow You Home**

 _Nothing of any importance can be taught. It can only be learned, and with blood and sweat._

 _-Robert Anton Wilson_

 **Disclaimer: Plot is mine. Everything Twilight is not.**

 **Another disclaimer: With regard to themes and content, this will include mature themes and, at times, explicit and graphic scenarios. The story is based on the world of crime, therefore there will be a great deal of illegal activity - such as drug use, murder, violence and assault in its various formats. If you're comfortable with those themes, I hope you enjoy my story but if you find yourself triggered by those themes in a fictional context, then this story might not be for you. Otherwise, happy reading! :)**

* * *

 **BPOV**

Things change in weird ways. But then, other things don't change at all and that's even weirder.

I wake in my childhood bedroom. It's the same as it always has been. Renee picked me up from the airport last night, insistent that she couldn't wait a moment longer to see me. She lectured me all the way home. I watched the city of Chicago blur on the other side of the window. It's so much prettier when I'm not looking too close.

"This is your home, Bella," she said. "You don't leave home like that."

I roll over to the other side of the bed and stand to change back into my clothes from last night – black leggings and a baggy grey sweatshirt.

It's a nice room, really. White walls, dark oak furniture, soft grey blanket. Simple and minimalist and trendy. I miss it in some ways. But in most ways, I don't. I hated it here.

I empty the clutter of my handbag onto a stupidly expensive cream rug. Between the wrappers and old receipts and currencies of every kind, there's nothing much of worth. Only my purse, a half-finished bottle of vodka and my favourite red lipstick.

I repack my handbag, stowing the trash and spare cash in the bottom drawer of my bedside cabinet, knowing that nobody'll come in here. The room is tucked away on the fifth floor, hidden out of the way, a whole wing to itself.

I grab the handbag and sling my duffel over my shoulder. I pick up my phone and then head for the door, navigating my way to the kitchen. On my way, I note the new art pieces, the new pictures, the new decorations dotted around the place. Renee must have been bored, but I suppose that's not a new development. She's always been bored.

She's waiting there in the middle of her enormous kitchen, three stacks of fresh pancakes steaming on the kitchen island, in a peach summer dress with white flowers on it and a plain white apron. Her hair falls in those natural bouncy curls, but the colour is artificial now, ever since the greys started creeping in, alongside the crinkles around her eyes. She really fits the role of a perfect housewife; she always has.

"You're awake," she says, the tiniest of smiles on her face, her voice just a tad squeaky. "Your father is on his way home."

"Where is he?" I ask, not really expecting an answer.

"On his way home," she repeats, avoiding the real question, dousing one pancake stack in maple syrup, her eyes flitting away from mine.

"From what?"

"Something went wrong at work. A bad shipment or something." She shrugs and her feet shuffle uncomfortably. She doesn't say it, but it translates easily. He's been out killing. I'm not surprised or shaken. It's been this way since birth.

I nod my head and we start eating our individual stack of pancakes in silence. I notice that she's had her lips filled recently. I can tell because they look ridiculous.

"Jane and Alec can't wait to see you." It's an obvious lie. My siblings hate me. They always have. Esme said it was a twin thing, but I'm not so sure.

"I'll visit them soon." We both know I won't.

She skirts around mentioning the obvious for a while.

She tells me about how my niece, Mariana, and my nephew, Santiago, are so excited to see me. That Mariana's christening went smoothly. It's a dig, coated in sugar, because she's pissed that I wasn't here to attend.

She tells me that everyone misses me and that Esme and Carlisle ask about me all the time.

She tells me that my cousin, Jessica's, wedding was lovely and elaborate and that she's still honeymooning in the Caribbean with her new husband, Riley Cullen. I used to be friends with Riley Cullen. I used to be friends with a lot of people, though.

She tells me all about Rosalie and Emmett's engagement party. She rambles about the lovely evening and the miniscule, irrelevant details for as long as she can, because she knows it hurts me.

I want to believe that my mother loves me, but she makes it hard when she gets like this - all catty and passive aggressive. I kind of can't stand her.

Eventually, she says, "We found you a temporary place to stay until you find a house you want. Esme picked it out." Her head shakes and she sighs, "I hope you like it there, it's a lovely apartment building, and we couldn't get you the penthouse, but we got you the next best thing. I think you'll love it." She sounds almost sincere, and it makes me a little bit less sad.

I don't let my mind drift to the reasons I can't go back to my real house, my own house, the one I spent two years in. I can't think of that anymore; it's burning my brain away.

I've finished my pancakes so I chew on my lip and then my knuckles. I blink fast because I'm not going to cry. I promised myself that I was not going to cry anymore.

Instead, I lose myself in the meaningless details that Renee swears I have to know. The colour of the marble, the pattern of the tiles on the bathroom floor, the kitchen layout, the couch colours, the bed sizes, the mahogany tables.

"Where is it?" I ask.

"North side," she says, in the way that implies I'm stupid for asking.

I pause, my mind winding. "I thought we were going to chose a more remote location."

Her eyes roll, she smacks her silicon lips. "Darling, you're Isabella Swan, it doesn't matter where you go, that's always the truth. I thought you learnt that from what happened last time."

I blink at her, stunned. My fingers clutch my sweatshirt and I freeze in my seat. I don't think if I've ever hated her as much as I do in this moment.

"You'll love it there, honey, and we can start looking for a proper house whenever you're ready. Your old one was always much too small," she snips, turning her nose up and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Yeah," I say. My voice is faint and I don't feel myself saying the words. "I'll get going to start unpacking once Ch-Dad gets back."

She nods her head and takes another dainty bite from her pancakes. I wonder if she feels guilty. I wonder if she pities me.

I don't think she does. My mother turned to stone a long time ago.

When she realises I'm not going to say anything more, she asks, "How was the retreat? Switzerland is so beautiful. It's so calm there. I remember when your father and I went skiing. Beautiful place, it was. Do you feel better?"

I don't feel like talking, so I lie, "Yeah, it was nice. I feel great." I wonder if she actually believes all of that bullshit, or if she doesn't want to talk about anything real because it might hit home.

Not long later, Charlie arrives as we're cleaning our dishes. His pancakes are cold but he says he's not hungry anyway. He doesn't hug me, which hurts more than I thought it would. He doesn't even say hello.

He just says, "I didn't realise you were back."

"I arrived at midnight." I keep my voice steady and my face impassive.

"And you came here?"

"I wanted to see you first."

"Of course," he says.

I want him to hug me. To tell me everything's okay because he's going to handle it and nobody's ever going to hurt me again. He doesn't, though. Instead, he takes the coffee Renee hands him, sits on a tall stool and stares at me.

"How was that retreat?"

"It was relaxing."

Renee excuses herself to water the plants, but we know she's going out for a cigarette, kissing Charlie on the cheek as she goes and hugging me goodbye.

"Don't ever do that to me again," she sighs, and my head spins.

Charlie waits until she's gone before he speaks. "You should go and start unpacking, Bella. I'll need you for work soon, so you better get yourself set up quick." He's dismissing me. I hate him for it.

"Okay," I say, hating the tremor in my voice and the tremble in my hands.

"I'll have Jake sort you out with your new apartment," he says, not even glancing in my direction.

I grab my bags and I nod my head at him before making my way to the front door. Jake is standing outside of my father's Bentley, waiting for me. He grins and I crack my first proper smile of the day.

"Long time, no see, _pollito_ ," he says, opening the passenger door for me. I slip inside. He takes my bag and puts it in the trunk before sliding into the drivers seat.

Jake worked with me, once upon a time, but then he injured his leg and couldn't run anymore, so he's one of my father's drivers now. He's loyal, funny, kind and handsome – tidy black hair, tan olive skin and twinkly, blue eyes. He was my first crush, not that I'd ever admit it. He's what I'd consider an old friend.

Once we're out through the gates, he leans over and pecks my cheek and I blush embarrassingly.

He grins, chuckles, "Oh, _pollito_ , I've missed you."

I shake my head and roll my eyes, snuggling up in my seat. "How are your kids?" I ask conversationally.

He grins. "My baby girl is so big now and we've got a baby boy on the way."

I smile back at him. "How far along are you?"

"Well," he chuckles, "I'm not pregnant, but my wife is twelve weeks along. We're so excited!"

I smile and I wonder if I'll ever live a life like that; if I'll live long enough to reach a life like that. Kids and husbands and exciting new things.

"But enough about me, _pollito_ , I talk too much with you. Tell me where you've been." His eyes glint and I know that I can't tell him the truth, not because I don't trust him, I just don't want to hurt him, so I play along with my lies about an impromptu de-stress at a fabulous resort in Switzerland. I dust it with silly details to make it convincing and he laps it up.

"I'm glad," he says, nodding his head, "you always work too much."

"There is too much work to be done." I shrug.

"And plenty people, too," he reminds me. "You're not the only one that can do it."

"I know."

"You're just the best," he jokes, reaching over to poke my stomach so I giggle, like I know he wants me to.

We pull into an underground garage in the North side of the city before I can really get a glimpse of the apartment building, but from what I did see, it's very, very tall and modern looking.

He locks up the car in a visitor spot. He leads me around to a more exclusive car lot, locked by a code, where my car is sitting up in the corner – a matte black Audi R8 that I've had for years and refuse to get rid of, no matter how much my mother complains it's an embarrassment.

"Here is your baby," he grins, tucking the keys into the pocket of my bag, which is on his shoulder. "I've written the codes for all of the entrances in a notebook for you," he tells me, striding over to an elevator. "This is the more private entrance."

"Who uses it?" I ask.

"You?" He shrugs. "I don't really know who else."

We zip up to the fifty-ninth floor; he says it's only the penthouse on the sixtieth. He shows me around my apartment, puts my bags on the coffee table, offers to help me unpack, but I tell him to go home to his wife and baby girl.

I tell myself they need him more than I do, but I'm not sure I believe it because as soon as he's gone, I pour myself a shot of vodka from the bottle in my bag.

I do unpack a lot of things that day. And the whole time, there is water dribbling down my cheeks that I refuse to call tears because I do not cry. Not anymore. Not about this.

Not about them.

* * *

 **A/N: I've made some adjustments and have reviewed and adapted the story so that it flows better in the direction I want it to go. Let me know what your thoughts are.**

 **\- Laylz**


	2. Chapter 2

**Out For Blood**

 **Chapter 2**

 _"Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red."_

 _\- Clive Barker_

 **Disclaimer: Plot is mine. Everything Twilight is not.**

* * *

 **BPOV**

My first week home is such a flurry of activity, I can hardly keep my eyes open.

I spend more time than I'd like behind the grand mahogany desk at my offices, a phone pressed to my ear and a cup of coffee pressed to my lips, an army of assistants taking notes in the corner.

My work ranges from legal, to not; from flowers, to funerals. There is enough paperwork to drown me, so I arrive before the sun rises and don't leave until it's pitch black outside.

Charlie has two of his most trusted men trail me everywhere, a third is posted outside of my apartment every night and Jake is made to be my personal chauffer for the week. He becomes less and less cheery as the week goes on, but I don't pay him any mind. Jake is not known for his stable mood.

Every day, a selection of family members arrive at my office to take me to lunch. I reunite with my aunts, my uncles and a handful of my cousins. They splash out on pity-gifts for me, because they think I've been away because my mind was fried after being so caught in the middle of the Volturi rift, then I was driven over the edge when my dishwasher caught fire and burnt half of my house down – taking my two dogs with it.

I don't correct them; don't tell them the real story, because there's no merit to that. I just gush over the expensive gifts that they bestow on me, kiss their cheeks and thank them for lunch.

It makes me queasy that I don't think twice to well up with fake tears, that I don't even bat an eye when the lies come pouring out of my mouth. So I don't let myself think about it too much.

On Saturday, my uncle Alejandro arrives to take me out to dinner. Once upon a time, it would have been an honour to have a meal with him. He used to be the best shot in the family – even better than Charlie – notorious for never, ever missing. Then his first wife divorced him and took his first batch of kids and he never really recovered. Ever since, he's been the most poorly closeted alcoholic of the family, and an embarrassment.

Charlie sent him to insult me, to ridicule me, to remind me where my place is. I grin and bear it because I've mastered the art of concealing emotions at this point, but inside, I'm seething.

We eat at his current wife's quiet restaurant downtown. We eat in a private room at the back and he insists on a three course meal, so I know we're there to discuss family business.

"Bella, my dear, you look much, much better," he says, pouring a glass of white wine for me.

"Thank-you, Uncle Alejandro," I murmur, reaching to take a sip.

He dives in headfirst. "I'm sure you're curious about how we've handled things since your departure."

I nod my head and pour the rest of my wine glass down my throat in one.

"Well, it's been quieter, of course. It always is when you're not here to cause trouble." I don't react, because I know that's exactly what he wishes I would so that I prove him right, but I'm smarter than I used to be. I pour myself another glass of wine and drink it even faster than the first one.

He, at least, waits until the starter arrives before he launches into the gruesome details.

"Our truce with the Cullens continue." He says it with disdain, because he thinks it's a dirty thing, a bad thing, to mix with another mob family. He thinks it makes us weak. He used to drill it into our heads over family dinners, that we are not related to the Cullens, that we are Swans and that we don't need them.

And he's right. We don't need the Cullens. We could go to war with them tomorrow, if we wanted to. But we won't do that, because Esme Cullen is the closest thing my mother has left to family, as they've been friends since childhood, and Charlie would never hurt her like that. Besides, it's not like we're short of enemies anyway.

"The Volturi are much the same. They've not stepped a toe off their own territories ever since you've been gone," he glares at me over the rim of his wine glass, "thank God. We can't be going to war over your Romeo and Juliet fantasy."

I change the subject before he can continue, before he can make me any more pissed than I already am. I smile, "I heard your daughter married during my absence." I make sure my words sound sickly sweet, and surely enough, they do because his eyes brighten just a bit.

"She did. Lovely day. She looked absolutely stunning. It's a shame you weren't there to see your cousin."

I frown, bring forth some remorse and veil it over my features. "Yes, I do apologise for that."

He shakes his head, refills both of our wine glasses, then calls the waiter over for a new bottle of wine – red this time. We're finished with the starter before he can get back into his stride.

"Your father handled a few of those young boys from downtown that tried to run off his dealers."

I blanket my face in a mask of indifference.

"We've made progress on the docks and we've regained our territories in the South. Your father has chosen to merge certain areas so that he and the Cullens can both do work there. Your mother's party is next week and your brother's birthday will be the Saturday a fornight after that."

The main course arrives. As soon as the waiter is out of earshot, he continues. "Some stupid fucks are trying to cause shit for us in Seattle." He shakes his head, his disgust is palpable. "Which is where you come in." His eyes flicker up to meet mine. "You know the area after spending so many years with that Jackson of yours, so your father thought it best you were part of the team we send over there to nip this little rebellion in the bud."

I keep my tone neutral and bored when I ask, "When will this be?"

He shrugs. "If it quietens down, you won't have to go. Your father seems to be waiting to see how far they're going to try and push this."

I nod my head but don't respond. We eat in silence for a while.

Out of nowhere, he hisses "I know that you weren't in Switzerland," under his breathe, his eyes flashing to mine. I don't let my features change. I keep chewing on the vegetables in my mouth.

"It's an easy mistake to make," I lie, smiling slightly. "I stayed in a very private spa in a remote area of the country. They pride themselves on the confidentiality and discreetness. It's a wonderful place. I'd be happy to give you the details."

He glares at me, like his stare is going to crack into pieces. "I _know_ that you weren't in Switzerland!" he snaps, louder this time. "I know it, goddamn it, I do!"

I don't respond at all. I take another bite of food; I sip my wine.

He pushes his plate away, leans over the table so that his face is hardly a foot away from mine. "Tell me where you were, and what you were doing. Now."

I pick up the napkin and pat my lips dry. I place it on the table next to my plate.

"I'm afraid I must be on my way, uncle Alejandro. It was lovely seeing you again." I smile politely and stand.

He stands so fast his chair falls back. Suddenly, I regret telling Jake and the guards to stay in the car.

I reach my hand behind me, skimming it down my back where I can feel the bulge of a pistol in the waistband of my pencil skirt. It soothes me somewhat.

"Answer my questions, you stupid bitch!" His words slur and his face morphs into an ugly mask of fury.

I blink at him then walk to the door as though I hadn't heard a thing.

I leave through the door and take the back entrance to where the car is parked. He follows me out, but is smart enough to stand back when Jake and the other two emerge from the car to greet me.

"I'll be having words with your father, _puta_!" He screeches behind me. "You think you're all that, you stupid Volturi whore!"

I blanch and freeze on the spot. I lock my jaw before it can drop open and I glance over my shoulder to see him, his balding, overweight, hideous self leaning hanging in the doorway glaring at me.

I walk quietly back to him and he doesn't dare say another words. The blood disappears down to his face, he shifts so that he's half hidden by the doorway.

Once I'm close enough, I lean in and wrap my hand around the back of his neck, squeezing hard. "Sleep well tonight, uncle Alejandro."

His eyes widen and his mouth drops open. He tries to pull away from me, but I'm far from finished. I squeeze his neck even tighter and pull him closer, so that his chin is almost resting on my shoulder and my lips are an inch away from his ear. From any angle, it looks like an embrace, but this is far from loving.

"I want you to sleep well one last time, because I've told you before that if you ever speak to me like that again, I'll give you nightmares that'll make sure you never sleep again. And I don't break my promises, so sleep well, one last time."

I let him go, take one last look at him before turning and striding back to my car. Jake is waiting for me with an open car door and guides me in with a hand on my back.

He leans down to see my face. "What do you want us to do about him?"

"Leave him for the minute," I say, folding my hands in my lap. "We'll come back again."

Jake frowns at me. "You can't let him address you like that, pollito."

I glare at him. "I said we'll deal with him later," I snap. "I want to leave now."

He frowns, leans away and slams the door shut. The drive back to my apartment building is spent in silence. He doesn't walk me up like he usually would, or say goodbye.

The next day, I wake up to an apologetic bouquet of flowers being delivered to my door from Uncle Alejandro – a bundle of purple hyacinths. I shake my head and toss them in the bin without bothering to read the car.

Alec rings me at eight in the morning, slurring his words, which tells me he's not yet been to bed. "You have lunch with the Rosie one, today. Emmett's girl, you know the girl. Stellar tits, shit attitude," he mumbles.

I sigh. "Since when?"

"Since Dad told me I had to tell you."

Right. Charlie couldn't just tell me directly. I roll my eyes. "What time and where?"

"Alice's luncheon place – pinky place, you've been there before with Esme. Three in the afternoon, or something like that."

"Go to bed, Alec," I say quietly.

He laughs on the other end. "Right, because I take orders from you, little sissy." Then he hangs up, leaving me with a monotone beep in his place.

I don't pause in my stride, I ring up Victoria with the errands I need her and her mini army of assistants to perform over the day, and I make a few untraceable calls to Jake to make sure that a few men manage to grab my uncle and take him to my warehouse before he tries to jump on a plane and flee.

I pick out a navy pencil skirt, white blouse and a navy blazer for lunch today. Rosalie might've been my best friend once, but she's far from my friend now.

It takes me the morning to remind myself why that is, and once I've drilled it through my head that friends don't sleep with their friend's brother behind their backs, I leave.

The moment she walks into the restaurant, I pull my mask firmly over my face and kiss a smile onto my lips. She's hurt me enough, and it's mine turn, now.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm not sure if I'm making the start too slow or boring for everyone, but hopefully, because of the chapters being relatively short, it won't be that bad. I'm not sure. Let me know what you think.**

 **\- Laylz**


	3. Chapter 3

**Out For Blood**

 **Chapter 3**

 _"Nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death."_

 _\- William S. Burroughs_

 **Disclaimer: Plot is mine. Everything Twilight is not.**

 **Also, some heads up: this chapter is a glimpse into other character's POVs.**

* * *

 **RPOV**

If I weren't looking for her, I'd never have seen her. She sits at the corner table, furthest from the front door and closest to the fire exit. She's shifted the menus so that they mask half of her face and she's got a few of her father's rookie men sitting opposite her in identical navy suits.

At least, I'm pretty sure that Emmett said she'd taken out rookies. I couldn't catch everything, he was ranting too fast for me to hear properly.

I frown at her parnoia, but I don't say anything. Instead, I stride over. She stands and smiles at me.

"Rosalie," she says coolly, extending a hand like we're old business partners.

I glare at her, because it stings that she can be like this when we both know that we used to be best friends. But I can keep up a façade as much as the next girl, so I take it and shake it once.

"Bella." I pause two beats. The three men in navy suits stand. One walks to pull out my chair. We sit. I wait, wondering if she's going to send her dogs to their kennel.

She doesn't. That stings, too, because as if _I'd_ ever be a danger to her.

"Are you ready to order?" I ask, once I've had a moment to survey the menu.

"Whenever you are," she smiles. A waiter appears a few moments later.

We make our orders. Our wine is served immediately, but the food takes a while to come. In that time, she asks her men to check in with someone called Victoria and someone called Jake, so two of them disappear.

Who the fuck is Victoria? I'd ask, but I can't compromise my composure like that. Carlisle sent me because he said that he trusted me to keep my cool, and I know better than abusing Carlisle's trust. Besides, I've learnt with time that I'll never win in a screaming match with Bella, and I don't want to lose my voice today.

So, I say, "Bella, how was Switzerland?" even though Emmett's already told me that the whole trip is all a load of bullshit to cover for something. He said he'd find out what it was soon, but his leads so far have all been a shit ton of dead ends.

She smiles at me and her eyes glint in a way that makes me feel like a ball of wool between her paws. Suddenly, I understand why people fall over each other to hire her the way the do, because I see the side of Bella I've never met before. I see who she becomes when she's working. And I don't like it. Not at all.

"It was lovely, thank-you Rosalie. You should have Emmett take you there sometime; it truly is very beautiful." Lies. Lies. Liar.

I hold my tongue, which is something I haven't had to do in years. I bite it hard between my teeth and Bella tilts her head at me, what looks like a sympathetic smile on her face.

"How have you bee, Rosalie?" Her words sound genuine, and for a heartbeat, I believe that they are, that she cares about me again, but then I remember everything that happened and I know that it's just my imagination, my wishful thinking.

I grit my teeth. "I've been great."

The food arrives, which saves me from having to say more. I'm a good liar, you have to be in this life, but she's was born with a built in radar for liars. I wonder if she can see through me.

She eats the salad that I know she hates then sends the last of her men away, apparently satisfied that I don't have any intention of pulling a revolver from my purse.

"I'm sorry about your dogs," I say once he's out of earshot. I mean it, too. I am sorry. She loved those German Shepards like they were her children. They were the only thing that stayed with her when everyone else ran away.

Her eyes flash and her face pales, but her smile stays in place. "Yes," she murmurs quietly, "it was very unfortunate to lose them."

I blink at her, starting to sweat. She's so different that it makes me uncomfortable to look at her. She's so far from herself that it makes her dangerous company. I start to wonder if Carlisle really sent me because of my composure, or if he just wanted me to sweat a little.

"Carlisle sent me," I say, diving for a change of topic.

She nods her head. "I know."

I don't bother asking how, I know she has her ways just as I have mine. "He wanted to invite you over to the Cullen dinner tomorrow evening."

She smirks at me. "I'd love to go."

"Great. I'll let him know." I swig the rest of my wine down my throat.

She pushes her plate away. "Is that all Carlisle wanted to ask?"

I smirk at her this time. "He said that he'd talk to you on Friday. Be there for five and dress smart."

I push my chair back and stand. I smile down at her, reaching into my wallet and throwing a few hundreds down on the table.

She stills in her chair and watches me with raised eyebrows.

"It was lovely seeing you, Bella," I say, with as much sass as I can muster, before I turn on my heel and leave her sitting there. I pass all three of the men on my way out, all rushing to latch back onto her side again.

When I leave, I don't let myself look back. Not once. I can't risk that she'll see me crying.

I watch out of the car window as she leaves the restaurant and it hurts when I see her laughing with one of the men she had with her, because I don't know how she can be so okay without me after everything we've been through together. I don't know how she can be okay when I'm so far from it.

I don't know anything anymore.

* * *

When I arrive home, Emmett calls his greeting from the living room. I walk to the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine from the fridge before heading in to settle down beside him, kicking my heels off on the expensive cream rug his mother had imported from somewhere in Italy.

"How did it go with Bella, babe?" he asks, double-glancing the wine in my hand. "Uh, not well, I'm guessing?" His eyebrows shoot up.

I shake my head and take a gulp. "Oh no, it was perfectly _cordial_ ," I mutter, huffing. I take a second swig to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth. "Do you even understand how fucking mean it is that she can be like that with me? She's so distant and cold and _polite_ and I'm like, what the fuck, Emmett? What the fuck!"

He sighs, taking the wine bottle from my hand and placing it on the table. "I know. It's what she was taught though, babe. When shit goes south, she gets like that and it's just how she's always been."

"Well, fuck her. Fuck her and her uppity-upness. Fuck her."

He frowns at me, his forehead scrunching. "Did you invite her to Friday, at least?"

"Yes."

He pauses, eyeing me. "And what did she say?"

"She'd love to go."

He shrugs. "That's good, Dad wasn't sure if she'd take him up on it."

I snort, rolling my eyes. "Oh please, as if she'd ever dare offend Carlisle."

He turns away. Then he reaches for the wine himself and takes a gulp, passing it back to me when I hold my hand out for it. "I love you," he tells me. "Even if you're not always right." He kisses my forehead and pushes himself up off of the couch. "Edward and Jazz will be here in a minute to pick me up so that we can go and run some errands."

I don't invite him to explain himself further, because I don't think I want to know. There are a lot of things I don't want to know about Emmett, because I love him, but I can't love what he does.

...

* * *

...

 **EPOV**

The first time I noticed Isabella Swan was at one of Esme's famous family brunches. I'd been asked to drop by and see Carlisle, but was left waiting so I took myself out to the garden to smoke. She was there, mixed in with all of my preteen cousins, but still managed to stick out like a sore thumb.

Though, that time, I guess she wasn't really to blame.

She had the biggest bruise on her arm – a handprint big enough to wrap around the whole of her skinny bicep, so dark it looked black – and a cast on the other. She had bandages on both hands and more makeup on her face than a ten year old ever should. She was sitting in my mother's favourite rocking chair with a book in her lap and a pillow behind her. The other girls chatted to her as if they'd always known her, and for all I knew, maybe they always had.

I never asked my mother why she was there, at an event that was supposed to be a Cullen only brunch, or why she was as banged up as she was, or why she wasn't speaking back to much of the girls even though they spoke forever to her, because there wasn't much point. Isabella Swan seemed to be a minefield of a conversation topic with my parents, so I steered well clear.

I've only seen her four times since. And not one, ever, has been pleasant.

When she was sixteen, I watched with my brothers as she murder a man - an enemy of both our family and hers – with his own butter knife. She did exactly as my father had asked her - she made it slow, painful and, by the time he was dead, we knew every secret there was to know about him. His screams were enough to give me a headache that lasted for a week.

Last year, on her eighteenth birthday, I dragged along to one of the shitty bars downtown where Alice and Rosalie had thrown her some sort of understated party. My brothers had dragged me along, just in case the place looked too sparse.

But it turns out that Bella has more friends than anyone knew about, because halfway through the night, they had to head to a different club because not everybody could fit. I ended up fucking one of her sleazy college-girl friends in a hotel nearby before passing out at Rosalie's flat. Alice told me that there were seventeen arrests made in the early morning hours but by seven a.m., Bella had every single one of them out and cleared.

Both times afterwards hardly count as meetings, because they were about the wedding so I was too high on coke to contribute and too drunk on whiskey to recall it properly afterwards.

That seems to be the case with most things in my life lately, though.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm still not sure. But before anyone wonders, no, Rosalie's POV will not be a frequent thing. I just needed it because I was really struggling to write it from Bella's POV. I know that's a bit lazy, but I just wasn't getting anywhere. Also, I thought an Edward's POV would help some people understand where they're at in their relationship at this stage. Anyway, leave me your thoughts and opinions.**

 **\- Laylz**


	4. Chapter 4

**Out For Blood**

 **Chapter 4**

 _"Nothing changes without blood flowing."_

 _\- Tom Metzger_

 **Disclaimer: Plot is mine. Everything Twilight is not.**

* * *

 **BPOV**

Midday on Saturday, I wade through the clothes in my closet, trying to find something with the right balance of smart, dressy and subtle. I pull on my dresses on, spin in front of the mirror and decide they're not right and pull them off again. It takes me an hour to admit defeat and send a text to Alice for advice. She arrives at my apartment twenty-three minutes later, her skinny arms weighed down with bags, bouncing around the place like a pogo stick, buzzing like a live wire.

She flings her arms around my neck, squeezing me tight and immediately starts blubbering. "Oh, Bella, I've missed you so much! It's never the same when you're gone, everyone else is so boring. You can't go again or I'll go insane, I swear it. And if I have to sit through one more miserable brunch with Rosalie, I'll die." Her eyes roll, then water and she brings her hands to rest on and squeeze my cheeks. "Listen to me - so selfish! I'm so, so sorry about what happened to you – oh, it was a terrible thing. I'm here for you – anything you need, anything you want. You know that Jasper and I adore you, so don't hesitate to ask."

She drops one hand back to her side and the other grabs a strand of my hair to examine it. I smile at her, at her whirlwind mind. Hurricane Alice. "I know, Alice, thank-you."

She wipes her eyes and the emotional bubble is popped in a second. She steps back and gapes at me, her eyes glancing me up and down, up and down, up again. "You've lost so much weight – what the Hell were they feeding you at that fricking spa? It hardly looks like they were feeding you at all!"

I roll my eyes at her and tug a piece of her hair to draw her attention away. "Alice, I was well fed. I just lost the weight I put on from all of the stress eating."

She giggles, knowing full well she was my main supplier when it came to junk food. She would arrive at my house with three bottles of wine, two tubs of ice cream and a handbag brimming with enough chocolate and sweets to rot all of the teeth from my face.

"What was I supposed to do? Make you eat cabbage? That's hardly a comfort food."

I don't answer, because I'm not sure if there is an answer that would appease her. Instead, I divert her attention to the apartment. She throws herself into taking in every detail of every room I show her, which isn't all of them but it's enough to satisfy her. She raves about all of the small little details she's going to help me with to get this place absolutely perfect - a bottle of bubble bath here, a vase of flowers there, a red rug in the guest room, a new chandelier for the office. I let her go on, even though I'm letting all of the information fly over my head.

Once that's finished, we settle down to get ready in the main bathroom. She straightens my hair, does some light makeup that I could do myself, but she does it better, then helps me into the dress she's picked out for me. It's a knee-length wrap dress, navy with a few small, delicate Swans embroidered into it in a pretty patterned formation.

"Alice," I say, furrowing my brows at her in the mirror, smoothing out the velvety material. "Where did you even get this?"

"I designed it," she squeals. "I didn't want to tell you, because I knew you might be a bit weird about it – you know how you can get sometimes. Anyway, remember I was starting this boutique up before you left? Well, it's all on track and business is booming and this is coming out in June, but you can wear it now because it's the first finished model and I made it thinking of you – you know, you being the swan and all." She smiles at me.

I eye her carefully for a moment before thanking her, not really sure what I think about it. It feels like a bad idea, walking into a mansion full of Cullens wearing my second name on my dress.

I wander to the kitchen to give her some room to get herself ready. I pour myself a glass of water and make a few phone calls to check in with the men working my warehouse, the women running my floral business. None of the phone calls are very interesting and, if anything, they only worsen my already bad mood. Not that there's much room to do that.

Thirty minutes later, she walks out in a short, silk red slip dress and five inch heels. She doesn't fit the classy look that I know Esme prefers, but she has her own way of styling herself. She looks edgy, and delicate at the same, something only she can be. She hands me my own pair of two-inch navy heels and a matching wool navy coat that falls to my mid-thigh and is soft on my skin.

She smiles at me as we leave and make our way down to separate cars. I try to smile back, but the feeling that I'm walking to my doom overwhelms me. I can't help it.

All I can do is button my lip and try to shake it off, even if it won't go.

* * *

Too soon, Jake's pulling into the long driveway that leads to their monster of a mansion. Trees tower over us for a while, but it eventually opens up into a wide car lot type area that sits in front of their home.. Four tall pillars hold up the front of the cream home, which expands to be even bigger at the back, where they've had extensions.

I take a minute to breath in the familiarity of it. I've been coming here for my entire life. For a moment, I'm soothed because I know the escape routes, the hiding places and I know the quickest way to get as far away as possible.  
Jake opens my car door and says, "Everything will be fine, pollito." He says it like he means it, like he believes it. I wish I could believe him, too, but I don't. I'm not that stupid.

He smiles at me, but I can't stand too look at him, so I just stare at the ground.

He doesn't understand it. Not properly.

When I leave him, to walk towards the marble steps of their porch, I kiss his cheek lightly and whisper a goodbye. He frowns at me, but I glance away quick enough that he can't make anything of the mask on my face.

I force my footsteps to stay even and steady and in the right direction.

 _Move forward, keep walking and don't stop until you get there._

On the steps, Emmett's leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed and a brilliant, dimpled, boisterous grin on his face.

"Belly!" he calls, bounding over in a few steps and picking me up like I weigh nothing. He spins me a few times before dropping me back to my feet and crushing me in a hug.

"Jeez, Em," I mutter, "I can't breathe," I mutter and he leans back to guffaw. His brown eyes glow and he looks the picture of perfect happiness.

"I've missed you, Belly boo," he says, letting me go to fling an arm over my shoulder and lead me towards the house.

I realise, with a pang in my gut, that I've missed him. I've missed them all. But I don't say it.

"And I think you missed your calling, by the way. You'd make a great magician's assistant. I mean, you've got the disappearing act down. Poof." He says it as a joke, and nudges me in my side to emphasise it, but it still stings a bit.

I give him a small, polite smile.

"I guess the magic word is marriage," he chokes, guffawing at his own joke. I roll my eyes and lean a little away.

Inside, the place is manic. Chefs are barking in the kitchen and there are cleaners rushing around the place to dust and polish the already dustless corners and already shiny mantle pieces.

He leads me up to his father's office on the third floor. I'm only half-listening to his jabber about his cousin dying her hair purple after losing a bet, because I'm more focused on trying to keep myself calm.

We eventually reach the double set of tall, dark wooden doors and Emmett pushes them open, leading the way in.

The room inside is made entirely of dark wood – the floor, wall, ceilings and every other surface. There's a grand desk in the middle of it, books lining the sidewalls, and a door to Carlisle's gun collection on the back wall. A grand chandelier hangs from the ceiling and there's an expensive, custom-made rug from Italy on the floor.

It's designed to intimidate, and intimidate me it does.

Waiting inside, Carlisle sits in the tall leather chair behind the desk, his hands laced atop the smooth surface and a heavy machine gun on either side of his hands. Emmett leaves swiftly, not even glancing in my direction, and slams the door shut behind him.

I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to meet Carlisle's glare.

 _He won't hurt me._

 _He won't hurt me._

 _He won't hurt me._

I try to recall the amount of times my old therapist, Dr Angela Webber, had recommended that I repeat something to make myself believe it.

"Take a seat, Bella," Carlisle says, waving a hand at the velvet armchair opposite his chair, facing the desk.

I do as he says, perching carefully on the edge of it and crossing my legs, resting my hands on my knee. I can't let him know that he scares me, because this version of Carlisle – his work self – would love that.

"I'm glad you came," he says.

I nod my head. "Thank-you for inviting me."

He shrugs, "Well, you are going to marry my son, aren't you, Bella?" He tilts his head at me and I know that he wants a real answer to this.

So I don't let myself look away and I answer, "If that's what required of me."

He smirks and slumps back into his chair. "You're too good at this, Bella. It's boring to work with you. There's no excitement."

I don't say anything, but I never look away. Not for one minute. My eyes flicker to the guns and back to him and he chuckles, but he doesn't put them away or try to put me at ease. He just watches me.

"Bella, I've been telling you for years that everything we do in this line of work comes at a cost. You understand that, don't you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, but surges on in his speech. "Yes, of course you do. So, you've left me rather confused as to why you would knowingly leave us all here to pay the price for your choice."

I don't offer an explanation, because I know he's not really looking for one. He's just indulging himself in trying to make a fool of me.

"Twelve of my best men died trying to do jobs that you should've been taking care of. I spent millions running your company for you and making sure that no evidence of your international affairs made it's way back here. Do you think that's fair, Bella? Do you think that it's fair for you to reap the benefits of what I paid for?"

He waits, and so I say – evenly and calmly – "You've always taught me that nothing is ever fair in this world, Carlisle."

He glares at me and his hands twitch towards the gun.

 _He won't hurt me._

 _He won't hurt me._

He _can't_.

"Don't you dare be rude to me, Isabella. You're treading on very thin ice as it is."

It's silent for a few beats.

Eventually, he sighs. "I'm sending you out on a job on Monday with my boys, and that's how you'll repay me. For today, you are to be happy and kind and if anybody is unconvinced about the story, you drill it so deep into their skull that it's all they can think about – your poor dogs that died and your sad life with the Volturi drama and how Edward was such a great asset to your life but you just buckled under the pressure of it all and poor, poor you. Understand?"

I nod my head. "Yes, I understand."

"Look at me, Bella," he snaps. I meet his eyes, and they're an ugly nursery blue that I once loved.

"I understand," I say through gritted teeth.

He flicks his hand in dismissal. I stand and turn, marching to the door, all too conscious of how easy it is to shoot somebody that isn't even looking. Once I have my hand on the door knob, he calls, "And Bella?"

I look back at him over his shoulder, where he's playing with the gun that is now in his hand. "If you ever try this shit again, I'll shoot your jet down. Got it?"

I don't answer. I just open the door and storm out, yanking it shut hard behind me. I can hear him yell something through the door. I consider running, but it's always fruitless to run from Carlisle.

He storms out to meet me in the hallway and before I can blink, he has a hand around my throat and has me pressed up against the wall, growling harsh warnings in my face.

"You ever fucking slam that door again girl, I'll put your hand in the hinges."

I open my mouth to snap back, but think better of it and as I'm turning away, I hear Esme's voice screeching, "You put my daughter down, right this moment!"

And I thank heaven once again for sending such a beautiful angel for me, even if I don't deserve it. Because I definitely do not deserve her.

* * *

 **A/N: This took way longer to write than it should've. But it's done now, so happy days I guess. Let me know your thoughts. Carlisle's a bit evil here, but I'll leave you to make your own opinions up of him. It'll be Edward's first introduction next chapter, I hope, and we'll finally start shifting this show on the road. :)**

 **\- Laylz**


	5. Chapter 5

**Out For Blood:**

 **Chapter 5**

 _"I've got libraries in my blood."_

 _\- Charlaine Harris_

 **Disclaimer: Plot is mine. Twilight is not.**

* * *

 **BPOV**

Edward Cullen is an attractive man. The type of attractive that hits you in the face, the kind that you have to force yourself to look away from, the kind of attractive that where you just know he's going to be a total dick before he's even opened his mouth. Which he is, so it's not even an assumption because it's true.

He's bright eyes, a straight nose, pouty pink lips, and a sharp jawline. His hair is a blurry bronze mess and his physique is the stuff of dreams.

He strides into the living room, dressed in an expensive, black suit and Italian loafers on his feet – a staple in every Cullen man's wardrobe, it seems. He walks over to his brothers and they pour him a mix of a few spirits, and Jasper laughs about something.

I look away, back to the girls that are sitting next to me on the L shaped couch in the middle of the room. Rose is flipping through the latest edition of Italian Vogue – anything to avoid having to engage in conversation, it would seem. Alice is commentating all of the outfits on every page over her shoulder. Esme hasn't said anything for the past hour. She just sits with me, holding my hand so tightly she's cutting off circulation.

The silence is so unlike her that I'm scared I've broken her, but when she spots Edward, she jumps to her feet with a big smile spreading across her face and rushes to greet him. It makes me feel marginally better.

Neither of the other girls stand to greet him, and I'm not so sure what I should do, so I glance at Jasper who nods at me to come over to him. Compared to his brothers, he's the one I'm closest to. Mainly because Jasper lived with me for a brief month back when I was still working in Seattle. At least, until I introduced him to Alice. A fortnight after their first meeting, he moved in to stay with her for the remaining week of his trip. They've been inseparable ever since.

"How am I supposed to be?" I whisper, not at all familiar with this new job.

Jasper smiles at me and nudges me with an elbow, offering me a sip of his drink. I take it gratefully. He whispers back, "Well, well, this isn't like you," smirking at me.

I elbow him in his ribs and reach for the Bacardi to pour myself a drink. The bottle is snatched from my hand before I can even begin to tip it into a glass. I look up to see Carlisle's hands wrapped around the neck of it.

"I don't think so, darling," he says, smiling condescendingly. Emmett booms laughter, but is quickly shut up by the look his father gives him.

He turns to join his wife, where she's fussing their middle son, and once he's a safe distance away, I mutter, "Fucking asshole."

Jasper chokes on his drink, chuckling. "Oh, I've missed you, Bells."

"Whatever," I mutter, stealing his drink for another sip before shoving it back into his hand. I head towards the door, but Carlisle barks my name so abruptly that someone drops their drink and it smashes on the floor. I turn around to see Esme glaring at her husband and Rosalie helping Alice clean up her smashed wine glass.

"Where are you going?" he snaps.

"Oh Carlisle!" Esme scolds, "Let the girl breathe."

I smile widely for him and even dip my head slightly. "No, it's okay, Esme. I'm going to the bathroom, Carlisle," I say, and it's the worst lie I've ever told because I don't even want him to believe it. I want him to know that I'm leaving to disobey his orders.

It's why I flash him a smile so wide he has to know it's not real.

Before he can get a word in edgeways, I turn back and resume my walk to the door. I walk straight to the kitchen, where the cooks are running around trying to season the meat for the meal before the guests arrive and they'll be expected to get this shit in the oven.

I walk out the back door, to the coach house, which they remodelled to be a bar. It's unlocked, because the men will come here later, with a few floozy girls, but not many. They'll smoke cigars and drink whiskey neat and chat about the glory days that weren't so much glorious as they were gory.

I make my way to the back of the bar, where I grab a bottle of vodka and a tall glass. I pick up two cans of coke and head out to stand behind the bar, pouring my own drink. Two parts vodka, one coke.

I only look up when the door slams. And I look up to see Edward waltzing towards me, a cigarette drooping from his lips.

Yes, he's attractive. But no so much when he's fucked up – which is always, it seems – and definitely not so much when I know that I'm a business deal to him. A key for him to slide into his back pocket.

"My father will kill you if he finds you in here. Is marrying me really that bad?" he scoffs, nodding at the vodka bottle on the bar.

I pick up my drink and take a big swig. I don't answer him, because I haven't decided yet. Would it be that bad? I flit through my memories of the times I've seen him shooting bullet holes through people's hearts, of parading an array of women on his arm at parties, and of the horrible things I hear my cousins say about him, and I arrive at the conclusion that yes, yes it would be.

He rolls his bloodshot eyes – a ridiculous green, as bright as spring grass – and takes a seat on the bar opposite me.

I take another swig and notice that he watches too intently as I do it.

"Would you like a drink?" I ask, leaning my elbows on the counter and lacing my hands underneath my chin, leaning on them. I bat my eyelashes at him and smile, because it's something I've seen other girls do a million times. It works for them.

He nods his head, exhaling cigarette smoke. I grab a glass and pour him one, with less vodka than mine because I can bet it's not his first drink of the day. Edward is not known for his sobriety.

When I pass him the drink, he announces, "You have to sit with me at dinner." There's nothing for me to say, because while I expected as much, a tiny bit of me hoped that Esme might let me sit with her instead. "And you'll have to attend future functions with me." He drags a hand through his hair and downs the drink in one. "And they set the date for us to be married next month."

I pause, my hands hovering mid-air. A month. One poxy fucking month. That's all they're going to give me? The bastards.

I drain my glass down my throat until it's dry then pour myself another, taking his glass and refilling that, as well, without asking.

He chuckles, "I suppose it really is that bad," but I can tell he doesn't find it very funny. It must seem like such a nuisance to him, because now he'll have to find a hotel room to take his conquests, because it might be a bit of a mood killer to have me sleeping in the guest room next door.

"Are you ever going to fucking talk to me?" he snaps out of nowhere, flashing me a glare that makes his pretty features look terrifying. But, just as quick as it came, his anger dissolves and he shrugs.

"I've picked out a few houses in some respectable neighbourhoods that are appropriate for us. I can show you them, if you want."

I nod my head, because if I'm going to be living with him, I at least want to pick somewhere big enough that I don't have to see him all of the time. "That'd be great, thank you."

He sighs heavily and finishes off his cigarette, stubbing it carelessly against the bar. Since there's nothing to say, and I'm finished with my second drink and a third would be pushing it, I start putting things away. I snatch up the vodka bottle and return it to where I found it out back. I take both of our glasses to deposit them in the sink. I toss the coke cans in the bin.

By the time I look up again, he's got another cigarette in his mouth and is watching me, grimacing almost.

"This fucking sucks," he groans.

I leave him there, because while I agree, I'm still so stupid that it stings to hear him say it, too.

* * *

"Oh, would you look at the pair of you! You look so perfect together!" Edward's Aunt Cynthia squeals, reaching to hug Edward and to kiss my cheeks. "You look absolutely beautiful, Bella." Her Italian accent and the way she rushes her words forces me to listen a little harder than usual to make them out

I smile at her. "As do you, Cynthia."

She blushes and then exclaims something in Italian to Edward that I don't understand. I have the blood, but I was never taught Italian past the basic greetings of hello, how are you and goodbye. There wasn't enough time, and it was more important to Charlie to put a shotgun in my hand and have me taught how to use it.

Edward and Cynthia hold a conversation in perfect Italian. I recognise brief phrases and the odd word, but nothing more. I occupy myself with trying not to feel so uncomfortable with Edward's arm around my waist, and grip my wine glass tighter in my hand. It'd be easier to ignore his touch if it didn't make me tingle.

Cynthia eventually flutters away and Edward glances down at me. "That's your fourth glass of wine," he mumbles.

Just to spite him, I grab a fifth from one of the servers as they pass me. He grits his teeth and hisses curses behind me.

"Cheers," I mumble, tipping the glass towards him, "to a lovely marriage," I finish sarcastically and take a long drink from my wine glass.

He glares at me, his lips quirk just a bit. Before he could respond, another aunt of his screeches our names and rushes over to talk.

We both manage to keep our happy faces on the entire night, and neither of us slips up once, though he does start pinching my side when I try to sip my wine, so I take to stepping on his toes with my heels when he drinks his own drinks. At some point, he snaps his head around to glare at me and hisses, "I'm fucking twenty six years old and a grown man who can handle a fucking drink. Step on my toe again and you'll regret it."

I try not to let it shake me, but I don't step on his toe again, even when he pinches my side.

When dinner is served, I'm relieved to be off my feet and to have Alice sitting on the other side of me. I spend most of the time talking with her, even though all she wants to talk about is wedding dresses.

After dinner, the men slip off to the bar as I knew they would. Esme leads the women back to the living room, where the gossiping commences. It's mostly about me and Edward, so I'm left with not much to do, because I can hardly be part of the discussions.

I slip to the bathroom and text Jake to head over and pick me up. Then, I set to work on building my excuse.

I put a hand on my stomach and wince as I approach Esme, who's sitting with her two younger sisters. She notices me right away and hurries over, a blanket of concern falling onto her delicate features. "Oh, Bella, dear, are you alright?" She puts a hand on my arm and squeezes it.

I give her a tight smile. "I'm just feeling a little off. I think it might be for the best if I head home to sleep it off."

She frowns at me, but nods her head. "Shall I go and get Edward?" she asks, already leading me towards the hall.

I shake my head at her. "No, thank-you. I don't want to disturb them all. I just need to relax for a while."

"Okay, I hope you feel soon better," Esme murmurs. One of Carlisle's men guarding the front door opens it for us and she leads the way out, wrapping me in a hug once we're outside. I hug her back gently. "I love you, Bella," she whispers.

I whisper it back, so quietly I can't be sure she hears it.

I pull back and leave, walking to where Jake is pulling in already. Little does Esme know that I am sick to my stomach, just not in the way she'd think of, and not in a way that's going to get better anytime soon.

* * *

 **A/N: I know it's been a while - a long, long while - and I'm sorry. If you've lost interest in the story, I completely understand and can empathise. If you're still with me and are interested in the newer version of Out For Blood, then welcome and thank-you. Either way, thanks for giving my story whatever time you feel it deserves.**

 **So what do you think? We finally have our Edward in the picture. If you need a quick update, I know that I have yet to properly explain their engagement and how it's come to be, but they are engaged - Edward and Bella, so I'll explain the details of it in an upcoming chapter.**

 **\- Laylz**


	6. Chapter 6

**Out For Blood**

 **Chapter 6:**

 _"Blood is just red sweat."_

 _\- Enson Inoue_

 **Disclaimer: Plot is mine. Everything Twilight is not.**

* * *

 **BPOV**

Jackson was an ugly man. A hideous, ugly man. The ugliest I'd ever seen.

His nose was bigger than my fist, his lips folded into his fat mouth, his forehead was more creased than the shirt that'd been sitting at the bottom of my bag for months. His eyes were a beady grey and his cheeks were so chubby and his eyebrows were so droopy that they caved in, so he was constantly squinting.

Every day, he wore faded black jeans and a black t-shirt, no jacket. His left arm was plastered in tattoos – red roses with thick, black thorns that climbed up his entire arm.

But, I suppose, he wasn't there to look pretty. Jackson was known for his ability to take an average person and train them to be one of the best murderers this world has ever seen. He was ugly, inside and out, because his specialty stretched to training little kids like me.

So, I was sent to his factory, a few miles outside of a tiny town called Forks in Washington, so that I might return to my family improved, scarier and with my small hands drenched in blood. With small hands that they could manipulate and use to fix big problems.

When I first met Jackson, I was so terrified I shook like a leaf. My nine-year-old self was so skinny and frail that he seemed a gigantic block of muscle in comparison. He was always scowling, always yelling, always glaring down at me as he ranted. I was petrified, but I didn't hate him.

The hate came later. At first, it was all fear.

Fear, fear, fear.

I wake to the sound of my own screaming, which is how it's been for a while now. A glance at my alarm clock tells me I'm up two hours earlier than expected, and I can tell from the way my heart is hammering in my chest that I won't get back to sleep.

I drag myself out of bed; throw on some casual clothes – denim jeans and a cropped mustard yellow sweatshirt with a leather jacket. I grab a black beanie because it looks frosty outside.

With my Chanel handbag on my arm, sticking my feet into some old white sneakers, I leave my apartment, fumbling with my lock. I drop my keys in my unnecessary haste and grumble.

I know that Carlisle's got work for me tonight, so I need to make some rounds today in preparation, to tie up a few loose ends. I head down to my car, pull out of the garage and speed onto the quiet streets of Chicago in the darkness of four in the morning.

I'm alone again, properly this time, so I drive to my warehouse and prepare for the carnage that might wait for me there.

* * *

On the way back from my warehouse, which, fortunately, had not been as much of a mess as I had feared, I glare at the blood drying on my knuckles. It's not mine. It came gushing out of some idiot's nose, because he was stupid enough to make a comment about my ass while I was still in the room. He'll have to pay a trip to our family's hospital, but that's on him and I don't feel bad.

Since I had less to do that I thought, I only had to chase a few shipments, bark a few orders and fire a few harmless bullets to whip it back into top shape. I checked in on my uncle Alejandro through double sided glass and ordered that they put a cot in there for him. I would've said hello, but I wasn't in the right frame of mind to get any good out of him. Plus, I've learned that with situations like these, patience is a virtue. The longer you leave them to rot, the easier they are to crack.

On my way back to the apartment, I drop by my office and touch base with everyone there. As expected, they're all doing fine, because they know better than to slack. Slowly, I drag myself back to my apartment, stopping for coffee and then for some fresh fruit from the market on the way there.

It's cold in my apartment, because the place is too big and open-planned to heat properly. I shrug out of my leather jacket and pull a fleecy jacket around myself, kicking off my sneakers by the door.

Not long later, as I'm answering emails on my laptop at the breakfast bar, my door swings open.

Unannounced, Alice tumbles in. I try to figure out how she got her hands on a key, seeing as I definitely didn't give one to her, but don't waste much time thinking of it. She doesn't bother with pleasantries but storms in, informing me that she's here on Carlisle's orders to help me get ready, pack for me and to make sure that I'm out of the door on time in order to catch the Cullen jet that's leaving for Seattle in an hour and a half. And that she hates my jacket, so I swap it for the leather one again.

It's short notice, but I won't complain. Seattle is one of the few places I don't mind going. We jog around my apartment – she spends most of her time packing half of my closet, alongside some clothes that she's brought with her; I haul artillery from the shelves of my gunroom and tuck them into a duffel bag.

A car arrives for me thirty minutes later, just as Alice is kissing my cheeks goodbye and bidding me good luck. She disappears, warning me not to waste any time.

But I can't help myself. I run back to the guest room that's housing all of my unpacked boxes, and I tear through them until I find the white, scruffy baby blanket that was gifted to me. I wrap it around my hands, frowning at the fact the splatters of blood haven't faded from the corners.

I bury it in the bottom of my duffel bag, beneath all of the weapons, before rushing out to the car.

* * *

Two minutes before they've set to depart, I arrive at the tarmac. The driver carries my bags up the stairs of their lavish jet. I follow, scanning the main room, which is decked out with cream, leather armchairs, oak tables and fluffy white rugs atop the dark wooden floors.

Emmett, who is sitting between my brother, Alec, and his own brother, Jasper, booms, "I told you she'd make it in time! That little wife of yours works magic, Jasper, I tell you."

I take my seat opposite Jasper, who smirks at me. My driver tucks the bags into a safe spot, then leaves, bowing his head in our direction. Emmett bats the silence away by continuing a discussion about some car that Rosalie's fixing up for him – a classic of some sort. It's enough to excite him, but that's not saying much since everything excites Emmett.

He's interrupted from a crash at the back of the plane followed by a vaguely familiar voice yelling, "Fuck!"

I gaze at the door that leads to the bedroom, trying to figure out what sort of commotion is going on back there. Another crash echoes through the plane, followed by a second string of curses.

"Edward," Jasper says, as if that explains everything. In a way, it does. "He's on the phone. Apparently, it's not going well."

I nod my head and turn away, back to Emmett who starts an inquisition about how much I know about Seattle. He's been before, because Rose is from Seattle, but not for work.

"You lived there, right, Belly-boo?" He grins at me, so I know it's harmless, but it still makes me uncomfortable to talk about it.

I nod my head.

"How long did you work there?"

"Two and a half years," I answer.

"For Jackson?"

I shift in my seat and shuffle my feet a bit. "We had an arrangement. It was more like a partnership," I answer, though that's putting it kindly. Alec snorts, scowling at me. Jasper glares at him.

Emmett scratches his head and looks down to his lap. "Then you came back to Chicago?"

"Yes, Emmett, then I came back to Chicago."

Alec grumbles in his seat. "Work is a generous word for what you were doing there," he spits, glaring at me.

I don't reply, because there's no point. We've never gotten along, not even when we were kids. He and Jane would defend each other to the death, and for some reason, they always felt that they had to defend themselves from me. Esme always told me they'd grow out of it, but they're twenty-three now, and it's all very much the same.

Emmett grins at me, trying to diffuse the situation. "So you'll know all of the best clubs, right? It can't have been all work."

I roll my eyes at him, smiling just a bit. Alec grumbles a bit more under his breathe. Before Emmett can set in with more questions, the bedroom door at the back of the plane slams open and Edward storms out, two halves of what looks to be a phone in his hands.

"Fucking idiots," he growls. He throws himself unceremoniously down in the seat opposite Alec, so there's an armchair between us. I can't even be sure he's noticed me, as he hasn't acknowledged me.

The plane sets off and I buckle myself in, ignoring Emmett's chuckling about all the partying we'll do.

Once we're up in the air, he starts debating what movie they should watch with my brother. They eventually move to the couch in the corner, kicking their feet up on the coffee table, and watch some low budget action thriller from the seventies. Jasper disappears to the bedroom for a nap, leaving just Edward and me, not that he's much company. He spends the first thirty minutes muttering curses under his breath, then moves on to trying to fix his broken phone – though, it's clearly beyond repair.

I open my mouth, considering asking him what's wrong, but decide against it. From my bag, I pull earphones and my phone and flick through my playlist, deciding on a mindless album that's loud enough to keep my thoughts at bay.

Jasper calls for me to join him in the bedroom at some point towards the end of the flught. It's the only thing that's caught Edward's attention from programming his spare phone, and I can feel him glaring at me the entire time I walk away.

Jasper lies under the covers of bed having stripped to his boxers and I sit cross-legged at the end of his bed, hugging my middle. The Cullens have two jets; this is the smaller one, with only one bedroom that has a double bed, a chest of drawers, a TV mounted on the wall and a wardrobe. It's a bit cramped.

"So I'm going to explain what we're in Seattle to do, okay? And you're not going to say or do anything until I'm finished – got it?"

I bob my head once in confirmation and seal my lips shut tightly. I take it to mean that I'm not going to like why we're going.

"Since you've stopped your visits to Seattle, there's been a new gang trying to encroach on our families territory. They've raided two of our storage units and have attempted to intercept three shipments all in the past month. Our fathers decided to send a few extra men over to speak with them two weeks ago, but they killed those men." He grumbles quietly, shaking his head. He won't meet my eyes, so I know he's not telling me the whole truth. Not yet, anyway.

"It's an insult, as you well know. Our trip will last a few days – just until we've settled this properly. Tonight, we'll meet them for drinks to supposedly discuss new terms. Tomorrow is where you'll come into play, mainly. We'll clip most of their workers, but we need you to hold some of the leaders so that we can question them later. Once we're done with that, we'll dispose of them as well, and then our men will follow in and retake the ground we've lost, as well as seize theirs."

It's still not the whole truth, because his eyes won't meet mine. "You're not telling me something," I say flatly.

A heavy fist bangs on the locked door and Emmett yells to us that we're about to land, but neither of us move to open it quite yet.

He sighs. "You'll figure the rest out on your own."

* * *

We stay at one of Edward's fancy hotels, in the penthouse suite of course. It's made up of white marble and dark woods. It's so pretty and grand that I wish I could stay. The security here is the best there is, according to Emmett.

Jasper helps carry my bags to my room. "Dress smart. Alice packed you a red dress for tonight," he tells me, before leaving to change himself.

I shower quickly in my en suite, then rush around my room in my towel trying to dry and straighten my hair while simultaneously doing my makeup. The last thing I do is retrieve my dress from the bag it's in.

It's a long, satin red dress, off the shoulders with a sweetheart neckline. It hugs my curves – what's remaining of them, anyway – then loosens up mid-thigh in a slight flare. It's the perfect length when I slip my feet into the matching four-inch red Louboutins. I quickly pick out a silver necklace with a small white diamond swan on it, and re-pierce some silver diamond studs through my ears.

I spritz myself with perfume, drag a brush through my straightened hair and layer my lips in one last coat of red lipstick. I grab the black clutch tucked into the bottom of my suitcase and tuck a knife, a gun, my lipstick, a perfume, my key card, a bottle of pills and my phone into it.  
Then I survey myself in the mirror one last time, draping the velvet red shawl around my arms daintily, before leaving.

For the few brief seconds where they've yet to notice I'm there, I inspect the men standing around the bar of the main room. More specifically, I inspect Edward. Unsurprisingly, he's in a perfectly tailored black suit with a pressed white shirt. On his feet are the typical black Italian loafers, polished to perfection of course. There's a scarily expensive watch on his wrist. His hair is in its usual handsome disarray. The only thing different is that he's wearing a tie. And the tie is a dark red, the exact same colour as my dress.

When he turns to see me, I don't miss that he double glances, or that his eyes glue to where the dress accentuates what little curves I have. It's not anything special about me, though, and I know better than to let my hopes pep up. Edward is what Rosalie would, and has called a man-whore, so I insist on ignoring his stare, because it means nothing.

"Right, let's go," Alec yelps, hurrying us all out of the door. He holds me back to walk with him so that we're last. None of the Cullens realise that we've stopped. He leans close to my ear and snaps, "You step a toe out of line and I'll make sure that your skin is the same colour as this dress."

I blink at him and open my mouth, but I don't have anything to say. I refuse to listen to him because I think he's an idiot; he refuses to listen to me because I'm younger, and his little sister, and in his eyes, I'm just a glorified butcher.

I'm saved, when Jasper turns around and yells, "Alec, get the fuck off of her, man!"

He does release me, storming off ahead. I follow him to the elevator, where the other three are standing. I nestle myself between Edward and Emmett.

I rub my arm, where it's red from Alec's grip. It takes me a moment to realise it, but Edward nudges my hand out of the way and rubs it for me.

We're the last to leave the elevator, and we have to take a car alone, because we're supposedly engaged even though I'm not wearing his ring and we're both reluctant.

He helps me into the car silently then slips into the driver's seat. We take off and I turn on the radio to fill the awkward silence.

"Does it hurt?" he asks randomly, his words harsher and more acidic than I was expecting, not that I really expected him to say anything anyway.

"What?"

"Does your arm hurt?" he repeats, more irritated this time, running a hand through his hair and flexing his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Oh," I say, glancing down to where the red skin will slowly turn purple. "Not really."

His jaw flexes and he nods his head once. We pull up to the valet outside of the club we must be having drinks at. Just before he steps out of the car, he says, "You shouldn't let him treat you like that."

I'm taken by surprise, because I've seen him treat others much worse, but I don't say anything. I take his arm when he helps me out of the car, and walk quietly at his side to the elevator, which we ride up to the top floor.

The restaurant is going with a mysterious theme. The walls are made of heavily tinted glass for the most part, and the flooring everywhere is glossy black tiles. There's lights lighting up the ceilings and they look like twinkly stars. On the top floor, it's lighter than the others because there are some lights on around the place, but it's still darker than I'd expect. Like dusk.

Walking into the grand room, Jasper wedges himself onto the other side of me. I understand why the moment I look up. Because I look up into the face of a man that, once upon a time, was someone I called a best friend. I look up and at the slightly chubby, blue-eyed, blonde-haired man.

Mike Newton is his name, but we all called him Mikey.

That is, at least, until I had to call him a traitor.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, so we've left it on a bit of an edge, so I apologise if that's annoying. Also, at last we've passed the 3000 word mark, so yay for that.**

 **RE: Confusion: I understand that some of you are confused about some things - like who Jackson is; Bella's involvement with the Volturi; why her family is angry with her; why she's angry with Rosalie; the engagement and why Edward isn't a bit of an ass to her. Most of these issues will become clearer as the story unfolds, which I'm hoping to do soon but for the moment - Jackson is introduced in this chapter as the man that trained Bella how to be an assassin. Without spoiling anything, I can confirm that Bella is not irritated that Rosalie is engaged to Emmett, but is annoyed that she found out Rosalie slept with Alec - which is her real brother. Edward is a bit of an ass to begin with, but I do promise that he'll lighten up eventually. On the Volturi and such, that'll have to come out later, but that is one of the main reasons Bella's family angry with her. And before you guys get confused about the baby blanket - that's another thing that will explain itself, just give it some time. :)**

 **I hope that's cleared up some stuff for you guys.**

 **Leave me your thoughts. It helps me figure out mine.**

 **\- Laylz**


	7. Chapter 7

**Out For Blood**

 **Chapter 7**

 _Remorse weeps tears of blood._

 _\- Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

 **Disclaimer: The plot is mine. Everything Twilight is not.**

* * *

 **BPOV**

"Bella!" Mike exclaims, jumping to his feet and leaving his clan of people that I've yet to spare a glance to. I watch him approach me, but my mind doesn't catch up with what he's about to do until he's got me wrapped in his arms and is hugging me too tight, his arms crushing me too low for it to be just friendly.

My arms stay limp at my side, and I wonder for a moment if I've gone into shock. The last time I was this close with Mike Newton, he was trying to pin me down with one arm and pull down my pants with the other. I jerk backwards when the memory slaps me in the face. The dark alley outside of a club we'd frequent with our friends. I stumble right back into Edward's chest, who catches me and steadies me, though when I look up, his eyes are glued to Mike.

"Oh Bells," Mike chuckles, "you always were a clutz."

Before he can say anything else, Jasper steps forward, offering his hand for a shake, introducing us all. But I can't hear him, I feel like I'm underwater and the words are floating over my head like bubbles.

Edward guides me towards the long dining table with a hand on the small of my back and a second hand on my forearm that steadies me. He helps me into my seat, which I'm grateful for, because I'm not sure that I'm capable of doing anything on my own right now. I'm struggling to even stay upright.

Finally, as the rest of them strike up conversations around me, I gather my thoughts enough to at least look at the other people Mike has with him. There are eleven of them. I only recognise a few and none of them are people that I ever associated with but I know them from mutual friends and from seeing them around the places I used to go.

Jessica hangs on Mike's arm, shooting glares at me. I'm sure she's scowling behind all of her botox. Lauren sits right next to her, too busy making eyes at Edward and trying to adjust her inflated cleavage to notice me looking. Between them, they've done enough coke to make sure that their dealer has a very long, happy and lavish life.

I recognise Tyler, because he was the one that took Mike to the hospital when I'd managed to escape the alley. He's watching me intently, and averts his eyes when I turn to him, choosing to engage in conversation with Emmett.

I blanch and stay so quiet it's deadly as everybody else talks around me. Pleasantries first, with Emmett and Jasper offering most of the conversation from our side. Alec chimes in occasionally. Edward answers questions that are asked directly to him, but mostly watches Mike. His gaze wanders to Lauren a few times – or more specifically, to her boobs. I focus my eyes on the table, and wring my hands in my lap.

"Bella," I look up and watch as Jessica smiles at me, "I haven't seen you in forever. How have you been keeping? Congratulations to the pair of you, by the way."

I force a smile onto my lips and nod my head. "Thank-you, Jessica." I don't answer her question, or say anything more, or ask about her life which I couldn't care less about.

To emphasise the point in a way, Edward slings his arm across the back of my chair.

"Yeah, you kind of vanished on us there," Lauren adds.

My eyes flicker to Mike, then back to the table, and then I settle my gaze Lauren. "Yeah," I agree, shrugging, "I suppose I kind of did." I flash her a smile that I know she'll find patronising, and, slowly finding my usual self underneath the shock, I wink at her.

She glares at me. Jasper plugs the awkward silence by asking Mike about cars or some other bullshit. We order drinks a few moments later. I ask for a Coke, because I want my wits about me.

Mike raises a brow at me and laughs heartily, like it's the funniest joke of the century. "Since when did you stay sober, Bells?"

I stiffen and refuse to even look at him, choosing instead to check my phone rudely. Alec, who is sat to my right, kicks my leg under the table. I pull away from him, which incidentally has me leaning closer into Edward, who stiffens at the brief contact.

Lauren answers in my place, her nasally voice grating on my nerves and maybe it pisses me off that Edward keeps checking out her boobs. "Since she's underage, that's when," she snips.

I chuckle and look up at her, smirking. I tilt my head to the side and she scowls at me. I don't explain myself, and that's exactly what pisses her off so much. She huffs and turns away from me when the drinks arrive.

The sugar helps pep me up just a bit, and I feel a little less shaky.

Around me, the discussion descends into business as soon as everyone's got a drink in his or her hand. I tune it out, because I'm not informed enough to understand it properly, aside from the fact that they have overstepped themselves and we're here to dispose of them so that we're guaranteed that they'll never try again.

Edward leads the discussion on our side, setting firm, outrageous terms that would be impossible to enforce, but it doesn't matter since we have no intention of doing so anyway. I guess he's just trying to prove a point – to showcase his power, or something. He's unapologetic in his ridiculous requests that, had I been in Mike's position, I'd have shot down immediately. However, I'm not in that position and since Mike doesn't want Edward to shoot him before he's finished his fruity cocktail, he tries to politely decline and offer alternatives for him.

Miraculously, nobody pulls their gun and the worst reactions are the raised voices, and a few threats that nobody take kindly to. We go through four rounds of drinks, where I alternate from lemonade to Coke. Edward has one scotch, but sticks to water after that. Jasper and Emmett stay with beers, but Alec is absolutely wasted by the time they're wrapping up the discussion, because he's been committed to spirits the entire time.  
Mike isn't far behind him, which might account for the fact he's just willingly and relatively happily promised half of his ground to Edward's men.

We stand to leave. Jasper bids our goodbyes for us, since he's always been the more diplomatic one, and I push myself onto my feet, a little jittery for reasons I can't explain. I'm halfway to the door, a couple yards behind the rest of them when there's a smash behind me – someone dropping their glass, I assume.

"Oh no, wait, Bella!" Mike calls, standing so suddenly he knocks his chair back. He bounds over and he's hardly a foot away when he stops in front of me. "You have to come out with us – for the sake of the good old days!"

I blink at him and don't even bother with a smile. "Mike, I'm tired. Sorry, maybe another time."

I move to turn and step away, but he follows me and blocks me from getting far. "Come on, Bella, you know that we can show you a good time."

I take a step back, and then another, and when he follows me I press a hand against his stomach to push him back. "Mike, I'm too tired to go out with you guys tonight."

He scowls at me, grabbing the hand that I'm using to keep him at a distance and squeezing my wrist. "Don't give me that shit! Don't even try!" he explodes, his face suddenly too close to mine.

My mind blanks out and I remember the last time he tried to kiss me and my chest constricts and shoulders tense and my eyes burn.

He's knocked back onto his ass before either of us can blink. Jasper arrives at my side and Edward towers over Mike, the heel of his shoe pressing into Mike's hand. The men that we brought with us stand at attention at the door, their fingers threatening the triggers.

The boys at the table stand and Tyler shouts for Mike. Jessica and Lauren scream, their faces paling.

"Keep your hands off of her, or I'll break every fucking bone that's in them," Edward snarls at Mike.

"Bella, lets go," Jasper murmurs, his lips close to my ear. Gentle, he nudges my head so that my face is turned into his chest. He takes me back to the hotel in silence and I keep my hands hand fisted in his shirt the entire way. The only time I let go is when we get back to the hotel. While he heads off to change out of his suit, I steal a bottle of Bacardi from Alec's bag and then lock myself in my room.

I don't bother with a cup. I just unscrew the lid, tilt my head back, open my mouth wide and pour.

* * *

The next day, it's eerily quiet in the suite. Jasper wakes me at the ass crack of dawn – thankfully, with a mug of coffee made just how I like it and some painkillers for my headache – to explain to me what the plans for the day are. He doesn't comment on the fact I smell like I've bathed in vodka, which is unusual for him because Jasper isn't one to let things lie. It makes me suspicious.

Using his laptop he shows me a map of the places that he, his brothers and mine will cover and the buildings I'll have to infiltrate to grab the people we need. He rushes through the explanation that he stumbles over his words and that is definitely not Jasper, so I know that there's more than what he's telling me.

"So, your job is to round up the four main leaders of the gang – which are Mike and Tyler from last night, then this couple called Lola Carlson and Mikey Dawson. You know them, right? Alec said you might," he says, tilting his head at me, pulling photos of them up onto his laptop just in case.

I nod my head. I've known them for years because they also trained at Jackson's for a while. They never seemed to like me and I didn't have much interest getting to know the two notorious ass-kissers of the class. We worked together sometimes on a few of the easier jobs, but they weren't part of the team I was on, so I only saw them when we were sent out to compete or work.

"Yeah, I knew them." I don't say anything more than that and in another unlike Jasper move, he doesn't ask.

He nods his head and continues, "Well, they all live in the same apartment building, which makes it easier travel and time wise, but it'll going to be difficult not to alert everyone as to what's going on. We've got three men that you can take with you, and a driver. There's a rental van downstairs for you, which is fully prepped for detaining them. The idea is, you'll sneak in, stick them with a few tranquiliser darts, have them taken downstairs and then you'll sneak out. We've got some guys working on the CCTV, so don't worry about that."

I nod my head, surveying the area Jasper's pointed to on the map. It's a rough area, which doesn't surprise me because Mike never fails to take an opportunity to show that he's tough. It's drug central down there, which also might be why he chose it.

"Edward will question them. Maybe Alec, too. We'll be done with our bit around six if all goes to plan. So we need you to have them all together and down there for seven. Do you think you can do that?"

I'd be insulted, if Jasper wasn't a natural stress head. Nodding my head, I take a long sip of the bitter coffee and sigh. The job is easy, one of the easiest I've done in years. It's the keeping quiet bit that I'm unfamiliar with. Usually, I get something done quick and fast and there's minimal noise, but we clear out so fast afterwards that it doesn't matter. Today, it does.

"Yeah," I answer, stepping out of bed even though I'm only wearing my underwear and a long t-shirt. Jasper's seen me in less, not purposely but it happens when you spend so long living with someone.

I flip the lid of my case and start picking out some clothes for the day. Black cargo pants, a black t-shirt, a black puffer coat. Jasper laughs when I lay them out at the bed, muttering something about the lack of colour. I shrug, "I can't afford a bloodstain."

He glowers at me, "Bella, you're not supposed to kill them. You need to deliver them very much alive."

I laugh. "Of course, they'll be painfully aware just how alive they are."

Sighing, he orders, "No broken bones. No wounds that need stitching. And try not to piss them off too much, you know it makes it so much harder to work with."

I roll my eyes at him and curtsy, grabbing my clothes and a new set of underwear and heading towards my en suite. "Yes, sir, I think I can live within those means."

He scoffs and huffs, but doesn't leave.

Quickly, I change, pull my hair into a high ponytail, wash my face, brush my teeth then spritz myself with some perfume. On my way out, I stuff my feet into some heavy, black Timberland boots. Jasper's still sitting on my bed, watching me rush around the room. I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and take the rental keys that Jasper dangles in his hand.

Five minutes later, as my fingers are wrapping around the steering wheel of the sleek black van and my foot is pressing on the pedal, there's a surge of adrenaline that sends me spiralling into the ugly train of mind that comes with this work.

I press the pedal, we jolt forward and the three men in the backseat make sounds of surprise when I narrowly avoid crashing into a pedestrian, but I don't. Because I know these streets, and I know these people and I know what I'm doing. Which is nice, seeing as it's the first time I've known it in a while.

* * *

It's easier than I even thought, and I had low expectations. One of the men riding in the backseat hands me a dart gun, so all my job is to pick the locks and then take two good shots and to be quick about the reloading.

Really, I'm kind of pissed that they've dragged me all the way over here, and made me deal with people I don't care for, just to do what any mediocre crook could do. The only difficult bit is stomaching the sight in Lola and Mickey's room and trying to pull some clothes onto the pair of them.

Until I get to Mike's apartment, because I don't give him the mercy of a dart gun. He's smiling when he sees me, and too strung out to even ask how I got in. He moves to grab my ass, so I pull the handgun out of my pocket and bring the butt of the gun down on his hand so hard it shatters.

It's only after I've done it that I remember Jasper's rules. Still, I don't feel bad. So much so that I make sure to crack his nose before I smack the gun hard enough into his temple that it knocks him out cold. The men I'm with carry him down to the van in the garage, then I drive us all to the Cullen's holding house on the outskirts of town, a few miles from a gated neighbourhood, a little bit into the woods. It's creepy, but I guess that's the point.

The men unload them and drop them into individual holding rooms. I check my watch to see that it's only two in the afternoon. And yeah, maybe it makes me a bit smug that it only took me two hours to round up four of them, but I don't say it.

* * *

The boys arrive earlier than expected, as well and park up outside at half past five. The men with me scatter to look useful, even though we've spent the past hour sitting around playing cards for cigarettes.

I'm smoking one of the twelve that I won when they walk in. Jasper drops down into a seat beside me. Alec and Edward disappear down one of the hallways, a crowd of puppies in black suits shadowing them.

Emmett wraps me in a hug and scrunches his nose at the cigarette. "I'm glad you're okay, Belly-boo."

I smile and kiss his cheek. "Yep, not a scratch."

We watch from our side of the double-sided glass as Mickey is dragged into the room, screeching his anger. Edward and Alec stroll in behind him, both of them holding a machine gun in their hands. I roll my eyes. Idiots.

Emmett chuckles, "This is gonna be quite the show."

I shake my head, "They won't get far. Not with those guns anyway."

"Edward is good at his job, Bella," Jasper snaps, apparently in a foul mood.

Shaking my head at him, I say quietly, "I never said he wasn't, but they were at Jacksons, too, and we were taught to be good at withstanding this. They know they're going to die, and they know that a few bullets from a gun like that would be a quick way to go, so it's a no brainer for him."

Jasper cracks out of nowhere, and snarls, "You think you know everything!" crossing his arms over his chest and slouching.

Which is why I'm so much more satisfied when I'm proven right, and Mickey provokes Alec into pumping him with lead so fast he's gone in seconds. Jasper huffs and storms from the room. Emmett snickers, but I frown.

Tyler is next in. He lasts longer, and Edward manages to pull some information from him before he winds them up too far. Alec is on him like a rash, his fists flying at Tyler's face with abandon. Edward drags Alec from the room, leaving Tyler cackling in his chair.

I know that Tyler knows more than what he's told everyone, and I know better than to waste a valuable hostage on my brother's incompetence and Edward's impatience. I'm on my feet and in the room before I can blink and before Emmett can stop me.

"Hey Tyler," I greet, cheerily as I can, walking to stand a few feet in front of the chair he's tied to.

He spits at my feet, but misses, and there's blood in his spit, which tinges it pink. I chuckle and raise my eyes to his, where he's glaring at me.

"Well, that wasn't very nice." I smile, reaching into one of the pockets on the left leg of my pants for my switchblade.

He spits again, but it's a pathetic attempt and most of it dribbles down to land on his lap.

"Tyler, Tyler, I thought we were friends. You know what friends do? They tell each other things, and they don't spit at them."

I flick the blade and press it lightly against my finger. Then, I walk towards him and press the blade against his neck. I hold it against the skin, light enough that it doesn't break the skin, but just hard enough that he fears it might.

"You know, I'll cut it. Just the tiniest nick, and then we can sit here and you can tell me whose funding you, or you can tell me know and I'll let you die by a bullet. Your choice."

He spits at the ground again, so I bring up my knife and I stab it through the bag of his ear. He screams so loud the glass should shatter, but it doesn't.

"Come on, Tyler," I say, moving my head and leaning down so that my lips brush against his other ear. "Tell me. I'm your friend."

"Over my dead body!" he yells.

So I take my knife, and I run it across his fingers, until one of them is gone. He screams so loud my eardrums pulse.

"You know that we're friends, Tyler, come on, buddy. Tell me a secret."

I move to stand in front of him and I feel something twist in me when I spot the tears on his face. He's broken Jackson's number one rule – never show your pain. Before I can back off, before I can feel bad, I stab my blade through the back of his hand, until the end of the blade squeaks against the metal arm of the chair beneath. I tut at him and reach for the handgun in my pocket. I flick the safety off, cock it and shoot his left foot.

My face stays blank, because I've learned how to keep it that way over the years.

He yells and the blood is already pooling at the bottom of his chair. The puddle is so big it's terrifying. When I step back, I leave a trail of bloody footprints.

"You're being annoyingly slow, Tyler. Just give me a name and I'll make it all go away," I offer, cocking the gun again and pointing it at his head. "Just one name and I'll let you rest."

He gurgles and grits his teeth. He snaps, "Volturi. Aro Volturi."

I smile at him, nod my head, but inside I can feel my brain bubbling. "Thank-you," I mumble quietly, and then I shoot a bullet through his brain.

It's mercy, in a twisted way.

My kill count ups once again, but I'm beyond keeping count now. All I know is that if I stacked the bodies, and set them on fire, it'd be the biggest fire the world has ever seen.

* * *

 **A/N: So, we see Bella's work side in this chapter. Things will speed up soon and we'll see more Edward-Bella interactions, and that's what we all want, right? If there are any confusions in this chapter, they should be explained in the next one, but if you're not quite sure, let me know and I'll try to clear things up for you guys.** **Also, we've surpassed the 4000 word mark - which is a feat for me!**

 **Leave me your thoughts. I'll try to get back to as many of you as possible.**

 **\- Laylz**


	8. Chapter 8

**Out For Blood**

 **Chapter 8**

 _"All causes shall give way: I am in blood_  
 _Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,_  
 _Returning were as tedious as go o'er."_

 _\- William Shakespeare_

 **Disclaimer: The plot is mine. Everything Twilight is not.**

* * *

 **BPOV**

When the men come to drag Tyler out, Edward walks in. One look at his face and I know he's pissed. More than pissed. He's livid.

"You can stay seeing as your brother isn't in an acceptable state," he says curtly. "But we're doing this my way." I'm not foolish enough to poke an angry bear, so I let it be, assuring myself that I'll step in if he looks to be making any too big mistakes.

Lola arrives next. For the first few questions from Edward, all she does is drool over him. When he glances at me and doesn't raise his gun at her refusals, I realise he's not going to hit her. Maybe because she's a girl, or maybe because she's pretty.

So I stand and kick her so hard in the face that her nose cracks.

"He asked you a question," I say steadily when she glares at me.

Her face falls a second later. "You're Isabella Swan." Her glare could melt ice. She glances me up and down and fights against her restraints, then laughs condescendingly. "Of course you'd have me tied down. You know you'd lose if it was down to merit."

I snort. "Of course I would, darling," I reply sarcastically. "That's exactly how you got here. Your merit, right?"

"You bitch!"

Edward steps in then, and manages to confirm the admittance from Tyler with a few quick and easy question. I remember again why she was thrown out of Jackson's place – because she cracks easier than an egg.

He pulls more information out of her and she doesn't put up much of a fight about handing it over. When he shoots her, we know where they've kept the stash they've stolen from our shipments, how much they've used and have a long list of Volturi names that have helped them move against us. She smiles at me when he shoots her, and I notice that Edward shuts his eyes as he pulls the trigger.

Next is Mike. I stand back in the corner, leaning up against the wall, tracking sticky blood around the floor with my boots. Edward starts up, but he can't get a word out of him. I won't look at them, even though I can feel Mike glaring at me.

"I thought you were better than this, Bella. I thought you'd at least try to do some work," Mike snaps.

I don't even look at him. I walk to where he's tied to the chair, dried blood on his face and some hefty swelling and bruising prominent there, too. With my empty hand, I pick up his broken hand and I twist it until he screams. Once he's quietened down, I smirk at him, even though I can feel myself crumbling inside.

"Don't speak to me unless I ask you to," I say. "But since we're talking now, do you mind explaining to me why you ever thought it was a smart idea to cross me?"

He doesn't say anything, but his eyes squint and he scowls, clenching his jaw.

I reach up and press my finger against his nose. He screeches at me until I take my finger away.

"Because you weren't even here! Aro scared you out of the country, so it was hardly your ground if you couldn't even hold it."

I slap him across the face and press my forearm against his neck until he can't breathe, so that the screaming stops. I'm leaning so far forward that I'm practically sitting in his lap.

"Don't insult me, Mike. You're smarter than that."

I pull back and spin around, stepping a few steps back. He gasps behind me, and through his choked breaths, mutters, "I'd have killed you a long time ago if I were smart."

I laugh and wink at him over my shoulder, wiping my dirty knife on my cargo pants. "You'd have tried."

Edward shifts his weight, readjusting his white-knuckle grip on the gun handle. I glance at him and pale at the glare he's shooting me. I take a few steps back and pretend to be focusing intently on scrubbing the blood from the crevices of the blade, which is his cue to get back to questioning.

He does. And even breaks both of Mike's knee caps by slamming the butt of his gun across them and snaps his left arm, for good measure. Even so, Mike doesn't spill. He screams and screams, but he doesn't say a word

So, when neither of them are looking in my direction, I draw my blade back over my shoulder and I send it sailing for Mike's arm. It cuts into his forearm, which is tied down.

Edward's face jerks up and he blinks twice at me before masking his shock and turning back to Mike. "What's the name of your supplier?" he asks

Mike doesn't say again, just clenches his jaw tightly. I stride over, grab the handle of my knife and I twist. Hard.

"Stop!" he explodes.

Edward asks again, "What's the name of your supplier?"

Mike screeches, "Clive Martin."

Momentarily, I stop my twisting and yank the knife out. This time, when I stab it, I do it in his bicep. He's loosing blood at an alarming rate and he knows it, so we're running out of time. I push my hand against the round hole in his forearm, pressing against the blood that seeps through my fingers.

Edward nods, a terrifying scowl settling on his face. "That's all we need," he tells me. "Step back." He raises his gun, but I shake my head at him.

"I have a few more questions of my own." In an ideal world, Edward would leave and give me some privacy, but that doesn't happen. He stays behind me, but lowers his gun so that it's not pointing at us.

I lean in to whisper in Mike's ear, so close my lips brush against it. "Why did you take her from me?"

He knows what I'm asking. He knows exactly who I'm talking about, because there's no way he didn't know what he was doing when he broke into my apartment and slit the throats of my best friend and her five-year-old daughter. He sputters, tripping on his tongue, and I can feel tears dampening my lashes, but I don't let them fall. The shaking starts in my legs and slowly spreads until I'm trembling all over.

"Why, Mike?" I repeat, this time louder, jamming my knife into his shoulder and twisting. I hear his bone crunch and do my best not to cringe.

"Because she was making you lose track of your priorities. She was taking you from me!" he screams.

I grit my teeth and take a few steps away, onto to turn around and kick him so hard his chair falls over. "I wasn't yours, you fucking idiot!" I kick his broken kneecaps and close my eyes until he's stopped screeching.

He glares at me, but it's weak.

I throw my knife again, this time at the hollow of his throat. It spirals three times in the air, before landing right where I needed it to. I take a step over, reach down and twist it before yanking it out. I find a sick sense of satisfaction in the tears on his face and the sweat on his brow.

In the few seconds before he dies, I get to say, "Your mother never died in a car crash, Mikey. She died because I killed her." And I get to see the shocked look on his face before he stills forever.

Before Edward can speak, because out of the corner I can see him open his mouth, I take my blade and I storm from the room. Jasper is waiting outside of the room, a scowl still present on his face. He opens his mouth, too, but shuts it when a tear falls onto my cheek. I wipe it away half a second later and glance around.

"What are we doing with the bodies?" I ask, feeling jittery in the aftermath like I always do when it's personal.  
Jasper shakes his head. "Bell, let's just get you into some clean clothes and we'll take you back to the hotel."

Edward storms out of the room a second later, just as Jasper's trying to wrap his arm around my shoulder but I duck away and jerk back from Jasper. Edward opens his mouth again, but snaps it shut, shaking his head.

He storms off down the corridor to the right. Jasper leads the way to the left, not saying anything. He shows me a room where there's a shower in the corner and a fancy outfit of slightly baggy light denim jeans and a silk red top, with a thick wool coat to face the cold. I shower, scrubbing myself down with the antiseptic wash laid out for me, then change while Jasper turns the other way, playing on his phone. When I'm finished, wrapping the coat snuggly around me, he hands me my phone, wallet and key card, and tells me that they've already been cleaned – just in case some DNA transferred somehow. In Chicago, we're not this thorough because we own half of the police force, but since we're in foreign territory, it's best to cover our asses.

Are you okay to drive? I can have someone else take you back."

I shake my head. "No. I can do it." And snatch the keys from his hand before he can come to his better sense and stop me.

By the time I'm sitting behind the wheel, this time to an expensive looking monster of an SUV, my tears are falling so fast I can hardly see. But I don't go to the hotel, because that's not where I need to be.

On my way, I stop for coffee at a café I used to go every Sunday, but none of the baristas are the same. It's not the smiley girl from U-dub that knew my order, or the guy with acne and a killer smile that made funny jokes about the way people whispered about me. He didn't know who I was back then, and it was better that way. I order an iced latte and leave.

After that, I make a stop at one of the branches of my florist company, and pay for the flowers to save having to explain myself and go through the process of proving who I am. It seemed sappy to me, once upon a time, while I was studying the meaning of flowers so that I could be useful while helping my clients decide what they want for their events. But I understand now. It's like a coded message, like a secret.

I buy one bouquet of a dozen pink carnations. Then I buy two-dozen bouquets of half a dozen dark, crimson roses. The overly helpful worker is quick to help pack them into the trunk of my car. Once it's all packed, I'm quick to get back on the road again because if I want to get this done, I need to do it before the sun falls too low.

It's been years since I've been back here, but I haven't forgotten how to get there. I weave in and out of the streets with ease. I drive until I reach the heavy gates of the graveyard.

I step out of my car to open them, then drive right up to the grass, unloading my flowers from the car into my arms and walking them to the row of graves that I can just about make out the silhouette of in the rising sun.

On every grave, I drop a bouquet and bow my head to say a quick prayer. I press a kiss to my fingers and wipe it off onto every stone.

When I reach the miniature-sized grave of the girl that I considered to be my little niece in all ways but biologically, I bend and I scatter the carnations, sticking the stems into the soft ground of her grave until it looks pretty. I pull the weeds creeping in at the edges, muttering the same apology over and over under my breath. I leave before my sobbing starts and before I manage to convince myself to spend the night here, where I'd lose my fingers because this icy wind really isn't giving in anytime soon.

This time, I do go back to the hotel. It's empty, but I still stumble to my room and barricade the door before I break down.

* * *

Two days later, we leave Seattle. It's two days filled of unwelcome questions and uninvited prying from Alec. Emmett is the only one that doesn't sulk with me when I refuse to explain myself to him. He just slings his arm around my shoulders and asks where I keep slipping off to during the days. I tell him, "I'm monitoring my florist branch here."

It's not exactly true, but it's not a lie. Not entirely, anyway. I do visit the shop everyday, to pick up new things to decorate the graves and new gardening tools to work on them. Then I work until I'm too tired to keep going, pulling weeds and planting flowers and raking old leaves to tidy the place up. I scrub the marble stones until they gleam.

Neither Edward nor Jasper speak to me, or to each other. I don't ask Emmett why, even though I know he'd tell me, because I don't care.

We land in Seattle and Jake's waiting on the tarmac to drive me back to my apartment. He swings me in a circle when I get there, then helps me into the car and speeds away. I can feel myself shutting down, even with him, but I try my best to fake it so that he doesn't get worried. So that he doesn't try to fix me, because I'm a functional type of broken and that's good enough for me.

At least, when he tries to programme the number of my old therapist, Dr Banner, into my phone, that's what I tell myself.

* * *

I let the time slip through my fingers and I let the events that come with it fly over my head. When Alice and Esme break into my apartment, telling me that they're taking me wedding dress shopping, I go. And the time after that, when they come and take me wedding cake testing, I go. And when Carlisle arrives to talk business with me like I'm a stranger, and to critique my apartment like I had any input with the layout, I let him. And when Renee cries when she sees me in the dress they've decided on, I smile at her.

But I'm not paying attention. Not really.

My mind is with the person I used to be, the younger Bella. It was a happier time then. Happier than this, anyway.

A week before our wedding day, Jane knocks on my door. I'm too tired to fight with her, so I let her in and I grab a bottle of wine and two big glasses. She grins at me, which is new. Like Alec, my sister has never been very keen on me. She's been a little less hostile since we've gotten older, but we still don't get along.

"So, as your maid of honour, I've sorted you a bachelorette party! Everyone who's anyone is there, Bella! It's so exciting. Who knew so many people wanted to come and see you? Anyway, we're having the party at Alec's main place – Deviant, you know, the red one. It'll be great!"

I nod my head and give her my best smile, even though I don't remember appointing her my maid of honour, even though I don't want a bachelorette party. We get ready quickly. She straightens my hair while I do my makeup and then she helps zip up my short, tight white dress. I strap my feet into some expensive high heels so that I tower over my sister.

Before we leave, I rummage through the cabinet underneath the sink until I find my nineteenth birthday gift from Georgia, the Swan family's most notorious druggie. She'd gifted me a baggie of yellow pills that she promises are the best thing ever, so I pop one and I pinch my cheeks.

Then I leave with Jane, in her fancy Tesla that she'd never let me drive. Which isn't entirely unreasonable, considering the last time I drove her car, we ended up in a chase and I totalled the thing in the process so we had to run the last bit of to our hideaway on foot. To say she was pissed would be an understatement and a half.

I smile at the memory and I can feel my brain floating away and smile even wider at how the pill works. I just feel airy. Like I'm in a cloud.

Jane makes a grand entrance for me, so that everyone cheers when I walk in. I'm bombarded with, "Congratulations, you lucky girl!" and kisses on the cheeks and, "You look great, Bella!" and hugs. I don't recognise most of the people, but I'm sure I've met them before.

The night spirals from there. I drink. I dance. I drink some more. I listen to Rosalie and Alice bickering about the pins they're going to use in their hair on the wedding day. After that, I go back to dancing and drinking with some distant cousins of mine that I know are higher than me, so it doesn't seem so bad when I'm with them. We keep going until my pill starts wearing off, so Georgia catches me and offers me another. I pop it in the corner, with her hiding the action from everyone else by holding up her coat.

She giggles and drags me to her friends, who happen to be some vulgar drunk guys and a few of the more promiscuous girls that I used to hang out with. They don't seem bitter that I stopped calling them, because they jump up to hug me and pull me to sit with them.

There's not a seat for me, so I wind up on some guy's lap, who wraps an arm around my waist. I don't think about it too much, because it doesn't seem to matter. And when Alec's club shuts at five in the morning, and they want me to go with them to Georgia's penthouse apartment downtown, I don't think twice about it. I follow them out to the line up of cabs and the guy is just ushering me into the backseat of one because I can hardly stand, when none other than Rosalie yanks me sideways by my arm.

She tows me away, even though Georgia is yelling, "Leave her alone, bitch!" at her behind us, and Rose shoves me into the backseat of her Mercedes, locking the doors once she's in the other side.

"Drive us to Bella's apartment please, Sal," she says curtly, glaring at me.

I pass out long before we get there.

* * *

The next day, once I'm passed the worst of my hangover and comedown and it's getting dark outside, I disappear to a crappy, quiet gym downtown and waste away there until I'm so tired I can barely move. After renewing my membership, I let myself leave.

I stop in at the office even though I look like shit, and get sucked into answering some emails and making some phone calls that I've been putting off. Victoria storms into my office two minutes into an important phone call which secures me a million dollar wedding flowers. She's frantic and rushing around, gesturing at me to cut the call.

"My apologies, Mr Dubois," I say, smiling in the hopes that it'll translate through the phone. "I must get back to you in a moment, there's been a small emergency that needs my immediate attention. I'll be sure to amend the order, and will definitely make sure those models are sent to you. Thank-you for your time."

I hang up and glare up at Victoria. "What the fuck is so important that I couldn't finish my fucking phone call?"

"James Volturi is on his way up."

I blanch, the blood draining from my face a gallon a second. "Who let him in here?"

She shrugs and drags a hand through her wild, curly hair. "I don't know. I'm so sorry! Shall I call them up here?"

I stare at her. "You mean you haven't already? Of course you fucking should!"

I walk to my door and once she's left through it, yank it shut and spin the locks until they click. On the other side, Victoria shrieks and the chatter of phone calls ceases. A pounding on my door starts not two seconds later.

"Open this door now, Bella! Open the fucking door!"

Luckily, everyone on this floor with the exception of my assistants, are distant, distant blood relative. Not relevant enough to be invited to any of the events, but not so distant that they're disloyal. They'll know better than to run their mouths about anything that happens.

But still, it'd be easier if things like this didn't happen. Especially for the sake of my health, because I can feel my heart hammering like a hummingbird in my chest.

"Bella, open the door!"

He kicks it so hard that I can feel the floor vibrate beneath my feet, but the doors don't budge. Of course they don't, because I'm not an idiot. If I'm going to have an office, it has to be able to withstand a pathetic ambush from a man like James.

I can feel my stomach churn and barely make it to the bathroom attached to my office before I puke my guts out in the sink.

By the time I'm done and return to my office, it's quiet outside and Victoria is knocking, sputtering an apology and telling me that the security are blacklisting him as we speak. I ignore her, pack my bag and when I leave, I don't spare her a glance. It's not that I don't like Victoria, because she's good at her job, it's just that I don't trust her. Which is probably a smart move, considering that I've caught her eyeing my enemies – and not with distaste – one too many times for it to be considered normal.

Downstairs, James is still fighting with my security at the door, and he fights even harder when he catches sight of me. I keep my eyes forward and my shoulders square and my pace even. I walk past him, and he lunges and manages to grab my arm. I have his hand between mine and I twist. The bone crunches between my fingers and he howls. I leave before his strung out mind can put the events together and start screaming.

And I walk right out into Jasper Cullen's chest. He takes one glance through the glass walls of my office, and wraps an arm around me, ushering me into the backseat of his car. I try to resist, but I don't try very hard because I don't have the energy.

Once I'm locked in the car, with Jasper beside me and the driver putting the car in motion, he starts speaking. "I'm taking you to pick the house for you and Edward."

It takes me a moment to blink out of my state and comprehend what he's staying. "I thought Edward was taking me." There's an odd feeling like disappointment seeping into my skin.

Jasper shakes his head, not glancing at me. "Rosalie told Alice that you were cosying up to another guy last night, so she told Esme, and Esme told her it wasn't a big deal, and so Alice called Edward to prove that it was. He reacted as predicted - pissed. She's pretty pissed at you. She wants it to be real between you two. And end of story, Edward doesn't want to see you right now so here I am."

I scoff. "Fucking Alice." I can't help but feel stung. She told Esme. She knows that Esme matters to me. She went out of her way to try and screw me over even though all I did was sit in another guy's lap, half-drunk and very high. "Fucking bitch!" I mutter, kicking the seat in front of me like a petulant child.

"She's my wife," Jasper snaps. "Watch it."

"Well, I'm sorry you had to marry such a bipolar bitch," I snap, which earns me a slap across the face that I wasn't prepared for. My left cheek sets on fire and I blink at Jasper, my eyes welling. He's never hit me before. I didn't think he would.

"She's my wife!" he yells, his face a blotchy red.

"Fuck you," I spit. I press a hand against my heated cheek, feeling a drip of blood where his wedding ring must've hit. "FUCK YOU!" I scream, and I'd storm out, but the driver won't stop for me, so I just sit there and sulk.

We view two houses in silence, with only the realtors speaking and obviously trying their best not to be put out or made uncomfortable with our lack of response. I prefer the first one, because it has two master suites, both on opposite wings of the house. My parting words to Jasper when he drops me back to my car at some time past dark are, "Tell Edward I like the first one." Just before I slam the door, I add, "Oh, and Jasper? Fuck you."

* * *

 **A/N: I don't have much to say about this one. The wedding is soon - I'm writing it now. The ExB relationship will pick up after that.**

 **We've introduced James - you'll learn more about him later. We're done with Mike, and good riddance. In case you're wondering, Mike won't come back, but his death might affect other things... We'll see.**

 **Also, please don't look too closely at this one because I haven't had the chance to comb through any grammar mistakes. Eek.**

 **Let me know what your thoughts are. I appreciate every review, even if I don't have the time to get back to all of them.**

 **\- Laylz**


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